


My Dearest

by Rebldomakr



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drabble, Kinda Harry/Voldemort but it's very faint, M/M, Other, Stockholm Syndrome, Voldemort Kidnapped Harry, like the beginnings of an unhealthy relationship, my favorite kind of relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-14 14:08:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13009476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rebldomakr/pseuds/Rebldomakr
Summary: Voldemort kidnapped Harry from the graveyard in 1995. (a basic ass drabble)





	My Dearest

**Author's Note:**

> sorry about any mistakes, it's a drabble so I didn't bother to go back and fix anything

On 24 June, 1995, Harry Potter went missing during the final task in the Triwizard Tournament after he reached the middle of the maze. The Portkey that was supposed to deliver him out to the adoring crowd had been tampered with, he was taken elsewhere. Oh, where? No one knew, except for the ones who’d taken him. A desperate search went on for months, but people gave up hope. Everyone was sure he was dead by then, otherwise surely he would’ve turned up. 

Well, he was very much alive.

Harry was taken and brought to a graveyard. He was forcefully used as an ingredient to bring the Dark Lord Voldemort back, one of the components to a new physical form. Reconnected with his magic and more in tune with own being than he’d been for the past decade and some, the Dark Lord realized Harry contained something of his; a piece of his soul. He had intended to kill the boy that night, but after that neat little discovery he knew it could never happen. Instead, he took him and left to the castle that’d been decaying since his downfall.

While the search for him raged like a war, Harry was kept inside of a small cell deep in the castle’s dungeons. The Dark Lord was, apparently, repairing the castle. He got new elves to replace the ones that’d died, cleaned it up, refurnished rooms that’d become too worn out, and brought it back to its great gleam and extravagance. He’d been in the cell for seven months before he was transferred to his chambers.

Expansive and extravagant, his chambers consisted of a number of linked rooms. Other than the bedroom and bathroom, he had his own library and dining room. His closet was as big as the Dursley’s home’s bottom floor, filled with racks upon racks of clothes, cases filled with jewelry and delicate accessories. The fireplaces were all made out of bricks of white or black marble, filled with streaks of gold, silver, and grey. It felt useless, but it was infinitely better than the cold cell he’d been in.

“Do you like it, Horcrux?” The Dark Lord questioned.

“My name’s Harry.” He said, but he sat down on the bed. The mattress bowed under his slight weight and it felt delicious, he wasn’t tired but he wanted to spread himself across it. So much nicer than a stone floor. “At the very least, could you call me by my name?”

Lord Voldemort stared at him. He leaned forward, red eyes gleaming viciously. “Would it…Please you?” He asked.

Harry felt unnerved by the stare, but he nodded. “Yes. It’d please me very much.” He said. After all, he’s been dealing with the Dark Lord’s occasional visit for a long time by then

Time passed differently in his chambers compared to his cell. He had a window, in fact, in his library. He could see the beginning and ending of the day, now. He was given a calendar and told the day upon the gift. He also had a number of clocks, a wristwatch and the grandfather clock in the dining room, the wall clock in the library, too. Everything felt much faster, despite the fact he knew the time and the day, because there wasn’t very much to do. Everything just, blended together.

He came into his chambers in January. A month later, the Dark Lord gifted him an assortment of candies. He was given vases to hold roses of a dozen different colors, ones that went on to hold other flowers when Valentine’s Day passed. On Easter, he was given even more candy, and he was given an extended visit every day for nearly a week. He couldn’t help but enjoy the Dark Lord’s company. He didn’t think not only because he had no one else to talk to, but also because Lord Voldemort was nice to be around. The man was oblivious to a lot of basic human emotions, though he certainly seemed to try. He was quick to anger, too, but he always apologized. In his own way, of course. Never a direct “I’m sorry”, but a form of apology.

On Harry’s birthday, the Dark Lord gifted him a special ring. “It’s a Horcrux like you, but inanimate.” He said. “The stone is very special, too, and I want you to have it.”

“What does the stone do?” Harry asked.

“It’ll let you see those who have already passed.” Voldemort said. “For brief moments.”

He used it that same night, summoning the ghosts of his parents. He cried and, for the first time in a long while, he felt extreme despair and raw emotion. He apologized repeatedly, feeling as though he had betrayed them for accepting the Dark Lord’s kindness.

“My boy, my precious boy…” Lily Potter whispered to him. Her hand touched his cheek, but it was insubstantial and barely there. “We will never blame you for this.”

James Potter touched him, too, a hand on the top of his head. “You’re connected to him, Harry, the way your mother and I are.”

They didn’t explain. They never did, even though Harry called them to him nearly every night. The only nights he didn’t, was when he was occupied by the Dark Lord’s company. They played chess and he told him about his visits with his parents. James and Lily told him lovely stories of their youth and from when he was a babe.

Harry cried on September First. He thought of his friends when he held the ring in his palms pressed together, and found so much joy that they didn’t arrive, that he cried even harder.

Voldemort gave him a trunk full of new books the following day. And, within a long, rectangular box, he was given back his wand. He had wept again, curling into the Dark Lord’s embrace until his tears dried and his wand was warm.

“Thank you.” He whispered.

“You are very welcome, Harry.” Voldemort said, tightening his hold around the Boy-Who-Lived. 

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as the Christmas fic I wanted to post for the HP fandom, but then I fail at life and I just cut it off and made it into..whatever this is, now. I call it a drabble.


End file.
